


Tactital Retreat

by theplacewhere



Series: Teacher Thing [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Teacher Derek Hale, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 04:42:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theplacewhere/pseuds/theplacewhere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles could handle this. He could. He just had to get over his top five masturbatory fantasies springing to life in the form of Derek Hale wearing a tie and teaching Calculus. Totally do-able.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tactital Retreat

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be teacher/student pwp, but somehow the porn never happened. The second part to this story, which will actually be porn, is on its way.
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](http://saintruby.tumblr.com) and let's talk about Tyler Hoechlin in a button-up and tie.
> 
>  **Update:** The porn is still on its way, I promise! The thing is, I was anticipating it to be about 1000-1500 words and right now it's hovering at about 7K. And it's got probably another thousand to go. This obviously takes a lot longer to write/edit, so it won't be posted as quickly. Also, it's still pretty much just porn. So there's that.

"No. _No_. This is not acceptable." This wasn't happening. This couldn't possibly be happening.

"Stiles?" asked Scott, reaching a hand out to the crook of Stiles' elbow like he was about to collapse or something. Lydia, leaning against a desk next to Stiles, bumped his shoulder lightly with her own. She got it, of course she did. She was the only one he talked to about his highly inappropriate thoughts about a certain werewolf in their acquaintance, and after that night last summer with the two bottles of cheap blackberry wine they were both knew pretty much everything about each other's kinks.

Like Stiles' unfortunate and ridiculously hot "what if Derek Hale was a substitute teacher and fucked me over a desk" fantasy. Or the old standby, "what if Derek Hale was a teacher and I seduced him despite his moral code because I'm just too irresistible and fuck you, all right, it's a fantasy and I can be as attractive as I want in it." Lydia got it, but Stiles could tell from the slant of her shoulders that she while she was trying to comfort him, she was also holding in laughter at his expense. She wasn't actually going to be any help.

Stiles turned back to Scott, which unfortunately meant seeing Derek in his peripheral vision. Derek, who was wearing a button down rolled up the elbows, and gray dress pants, and a tie. A freaking tie. One that Stiles could use to pull him in and give him a filthy kiss, and arrange himself on Derek's lap where he was sitting behind the teacher's desk, and start grinding up against him while he used the tie to pull Derek's head to the side so he could lick and bite and bruise his perfect tan neck. No. Not happening. Focus.

Scott was wearing worried face #4, which was worse than slightly off-put face #1 but better than WTF face #5. Even Derek allowed a slight tightening around his eyes that meant he was concerned, and yes, OK, Stiles knew he was acting insane. But Stiles could not look at Derek right now, or think of him, or acknowledge his existence in any way.

"We need a new plan," said Stiles, focusing on Scott's face and pretending the moving blur past Scott’s shoulder was a hallucination. Scott scrunched up his nose.

"Why? Did you, you know-" Scott wiggled his finger next to his forehead Professor X style. It was the closest he could come to talking about Stiles' spark. Stiles rolled his eyes. Scott tiptoeing around magic was both ridiculous and slightly endearing.

"No, Scott. I'm still not psychic. It's just- Derek can't be here." Derek immediately straightened up into a defensive pose, facing the doorway like a threat was about to burst through.

A year ago, Derek would have been snarling and demanding an explanation and just generally being a sketchy jackass, which had always made him being unfairly attractive easier to bear. Stiles had never had a thing for jerks, no matter how great their asses were. Now, Derek immediately went with Stiles when he said something was wrong, trusting that an explanation would come in due time. Freaking Derek kept insisting on growing as a person and it made Stiles' quest not to fall in love with him that much more difficult. Now here he was: trusting Stiles, subbing for the junior/senior math teacher, and wearing a tie. There was really only so much Stiles could take.

"But Derek's the only one who knows what the rogue omega smells like in human form," said Scott, like the problem was that Stiles didn't understand and not that he was going to spontaneously combust during math class. "We need him here."

"Lydia could-"

"Nope," said Lydia from the desk where she had settled in and was now flipping idly through her physics textbook. Stiles glared, but she just flicked an invisible speck off her skirt and kept reading. He knew she knew he was glaring at her, and he knew she knew that he knew she knew he was glaring at her. OK, Stiles was maybe going a little insane.

He blamed Derek's tie. And his arms in the folded up sleeves up the button down. And- was that chalk dust on Derek's hand? His huge, strong, wide hand, and you know what they say about big hands and big- nope. Jesus wept. Stiles was suddenly and immensely grateful for his deal with Scott that Stiles would not ever ask him to smell arousal on other people if he never mentioned smelling it on Stiles.

"I could-" choked out Stiles desperately, but he had no way to finish the sentence. This really was the best plan to catch the omega that was invading pack territory. It wasn't killing or terrorizing anyone (yet, Allison had pointed out), but it was making all the wolves freak out. They needed to find the omega and confront them about why they were a lone teenage wolf in Beacons Hills of all places. It was practically a humanitarian mission.

Stiles had to just get over his top five masturbatory fantasies springing to life. He could ignore it. He only had to see Derek like this for an hour a day, anyway, and only until Derek could catch the scent of the omega. Stiles could handle this.

He gave himself a quick pep talk, playing Eye of the Tiger in his mind and thinking about the least sexy things in the world: his dad singing off key in the shower, spittle flicking out of Coach Finstock's mouth as he yelled about teamwork, Jackson's kanima form covered in a goo cocoon. And that was it. Flashbacks of mortal terror were officially the best way to kill a boner.

"You're right," said Stiles, berating himself for sounding defeated. He felt drained, like he had just fought off the whole pack in training, first with magic and then again with his bare fists. He could do this. He could shape reality to his will if he believed in it hard enough, so he could definitely handle a day or two of Derek playing teacher.

"Do I want to know what that freak out was about?" asked Scott.

"No," said Lydia, from the corner where she was still reading and apparently not paying any attention to the conversation. Stiles shook his head in solidarity.

"I'm fine now," said Stiles. He very purposely made eye contact with Derek, not noticing at all the way his button up would easily cover up hickeys on the patch of skin where collarbone connected to neck. "I'm good." Scott clapped Stiles on the shoulder. The bell signaling the end of lunch rang, and Scott went off to English while Lydia and Stiles took their normal seats for Calculus.

Students started to flood through the hallway outside, talking and stomping around and just generally having absolutely no sympathy to Stiles' plight. Lydia reached over absently to run a hand through his hair, but the comfort that gesture usually provided was mitigated by Derek putting on a serious face and flipping through Mrs. Masley's lesson plans. As part of Stiles' magic training, he had once spent 12 hours staring at a pebble and willing it to move. If he could do that, he could spend an hour not looking at Derek.

Derek patted his shirt pocket and frowned. He reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a pair of thick-framed black plastic glasses. No. This was a mistake, a hallucination. There were limits to what any teenager with a raging libido could take, and Stiles absolutely could not handle it if Derek put on those- and Derek put on the glasses. Stiles was fairly certain he actually whimpered a little bit, if the judgmental look Lydia sent him was any indication.

"I'm going to the nurse," said Stiles, nodding his head fervently at his wonderful plan and grabbing up his stuff quickly. As he shot out the door with his nearly empty backpack on his back and all his belongings in his hands, he decided to call what had just happened a tactical retreat when Lydia forced him to talk about it later. That sounded much better than running away before he came in his pants.


End file.
